This Is Not Love
by CrimsonAccent
Summary: Nico is now 16 and living a normal life. Or as normal as a demigod gets. But then he had to go and ruin it all by spilling his coffee over an innocent bystander. Warning: Language, implied Percabeth and past character death.


**This is the most ambitious one-shot I've ever written. Seriously. I had to cut it _short_. Anyway, this was done as a request for my buddy AstoriaGoode who was inspired after going to aimmyarrowshigh's livejournal. Yup. I apologize with any inconsistencies or OOC on Sophie's part. I don't know Infernal Devices nearly as well as PJO! **

* * *

><p>For someone who was a famous war hero, Nico di Angelo was surprisingly forgettable. He had always kept to the shadows, after that brief burst of childhood with his overbearing (too stupid to live) sister had ended abruptly. Mythomagic was the last remnant of life after the Lethe but before the Hunters. Soon he discarded it in disgust, because it just reminded him of how horribly naïve he was as a child. The symbolism of tossing aside his innocence wasn't lost on the teen, but once disillusioned, there was no going back.<p>

He wasn't bitter, he'd told Percy on his own sixteenth birthday (picked out using a dartboard and a calendar). Far from it. He was happy for his friends. Happy to see the ring on Annabeth's finger and the stupid grin on his cousin's face. Percy and Annabeth were like a (stupid) ray of hope-not everything had to end tragedy for demigods, the way things had worked out for the couple was proof enough, wasn't it? Nico simply grew out of his naiveté was all.

Maybe the transition was too fast to an outside observer. Maybe that's why he was _creepy._ Pfft. It brought a sardonic smile to his face, remembering how Thalia had decked the  
>girl who dared to point and make a snide comment to her friend with the bought-in-a-box hair. Nico persisted in wearing his aviator jacket (it smelled like something he was painfully unable to recall) and visiting his father's realm and somehow growing his hair out only added to the problem.<p>

Leo Valdez (the guilt of death was soaked into his skin and it intrigued the son of Hades like none other, but he was polite enough not to ask why) had perhaps put it best, when he'd said, "You really do look like a zombie sometimes man. With that pale skin and jacket that makes the rest of you look so small, you've already got one foot in the grave. Plus your eyes are like really, really old and when you stare girls squeal 'creeper!'" Of course, Nico was only able to cajole this from him after slipping several _somethings _into his drink.

So Nico di Angelo was not a normal or typical sixteen year old, by any definition of the word.

And he was mostly satisfied with that.

His circle of (living) friends wasn't enormous, but Percy (and Annabeth), Thalia, Leo and Grover (when drunk) kept him busy enough. And Sally (Jackson) Blofis was determined to put some meat on his bones. So that made for family dinners every third Tuesday of the month whether he liked it or not. Paul was polite enough and strangely enthusiastic about the supernatural around him, even Nico-and most mythological things were put off by the whole "my father is death" thing.

What Aphrodite would insist was that he was incomplete. Love was the final puzzle piece in life he needed before he was truly accomplished. Or something like that. And she might've made a pass at him before throwing up her hands in frustration demanding if he batted for the other team or was (worse!) asexual.

There was a reason she was among his least favorite of the goddess's. Aphrodite would later claim to have had a hand in his romant_ic _encounter, which he would deny until the cows came home. Or until his voice gave out and his throat was raw. That was appropriately macabre for Hade's son, right?

Just for the record: His first love was _not_ found in a graveyard.

It (she) was found (sitting) in a coffee shop.

* * *

><p>Bumping into someone probably wasn't the best way to make a first impression.<p>

Nico had _finally _gotten his mocha cappuccino with two creams, no sugar and dowsed in whip cream. But life, being the way it was, couldn't just settle with making him wait a ridiculous amount of time.

No, it had to continue to be a bitch, and make him lose his firmly earned refreshment. Distracted by the heavenly aroma wafting up (like the spirals of steam rising from his drink) into his nose, there was no way for him to see it coming-

He crashed into the girl leading to a synchronized yelp as the coffee was knocked aside, nearly scalding both of them. As it was, he wouldn't be getting that stain out of his jeans anytime soon. "Sorry!" He exclaimed, more out of reflex than anything. Mournfully he stared down at his empty cup, as the last bits of whip cream slid down the cup, dripping onto the mess of liquid caffeine splattered at his feet.

Also, there happened to be a girl at his feet, which he noticed a bit belatedly. From this angle, her face was a mystery but he could see her hair-a typical brunette, that shown red depending on how the light hit it-thrown into a messy bun, and the giant brown splotch on her white skirt. Inwardly cursing his clumsiness, he offered a hand and stood there awkwardly for about ten seconds.

"Hey," he coughed. Either she genuinely hadn't seen him or was giving him the cold shoulder, which he didn't have a problem with (he'd employed it against people who'd merely looked at him wrong often enough) but doing so while sitting in coffee in a public area was stretching it, even for him. And he lived (thrived) on weird.

She did a full body twitch and for a second, Nico was concerned she might have some time of epileptic condition, before his third voice told his second voice to stop being stupid-he'd obviously startled her. Nevertheless, she took his hand, and finally looked up at him. His first thought was, 'Whoa, pretty eyes!', and then the rest of his mind caught up with that his eyes were telling him.

To his credit, he didn't recoil or visibly cringe.

He might've tightened his grip in surprise, but he certainly wasn't rude enough to stare. Being a Greek demigod meant the monsters (not just people running around violating others) in stories were real, not to mention they'd gone through a damn war four years ago. So he was no stranger to scars and had the good grace not to immediately comment on the line carved into her cheek, running across her eyebrow and disappearing into her hairline,pulling and twisting the skin as it went.

In some ways, he mused, she was lucky. She hadn't lost an eye, and though her smile was permanently marred (at best she could produce a grimace), the girl certainly had other attractive physical traits going for her.

"It's not polite to stare."

He blinked and quickly let go of her hand, feeling sheepish and uncomfortable all at once. Just because he wasn't constantly present at camp didn't meant he spent his time mingling with mortals. Far from it. Nico usually spent his time in the land of the dead, or visiting the Roman Camp across the country.

Cue teenage awkwardness.

"I wasn't staring," he retorted reflexively, wiping his sticky hand on his (ruined) jeans. Of course, his tone and posture made him appear much more defense than he should've been. "No need to make any assumptions. The universe doesn't revolve around _you_, you know." And his last comment might have been taking it too far, but let it not be said that Nico di Angelo's tongue had gone dull.

She flushed, pink staining her pale skin. The color seemed to animate her and she seemed angry (Thalia-level angry where lightning would come down from the sky and smite you) and she went from pink to red and Nico braced himself for a tongue lashing-

And she walked away.

Just gave him one last glare, muttered something like "Don't have time for this!" and exited the coffee shop.

And that would have been the end of that, if he hadn't heard the wet choking noise associated with tears and the tremor in her shoulders.

Crap. He hadn't meant to make her cry! What was up with that? She didn't seem like the overly sensitive cry-over-a-papercut type. Maybe he'd judged wrong...He thought of her scar...or maybe he hadn't. Nico sighed and tossed the remnants of his four-dollar cup away dashing out the store (ignoring the annoying tinkle of the bell that signaled his exit).

* * *

><p>Just in case you're wondering, no, this wasn't the part where he found her in a graveyard.<p>

No matter what Aphrodite tried to say.

Nico had learned fairly quickly that just randomly shouting "You! Hey you!" might've worked in Hollywood, but it certainly didn't in reality. Or at least not in New York. But for once, luck was on his side and he could tack on "in the white skirt" to the end of his shout. He only shouted _once_ because he certainly didn't want to appear to be (even more of) a lunatic. Especially since it ran in the family.

Using his practice at retreating (he never _ran away_ like a coward) from superior forces, it wasn't hard to catch her, even in the lunch crowd. He grabbed her arm and hoped she wasn't alarmed enough to pull mace on him. Nico already learned about its harsh sting the hard way and never wanted to experience it again.

"Look, are you okay?" Great di Angelo, ask the most stupid and cliché question in the book. She had stiffened, but didn't pull away, so that was some sort of progress, wasn't it? Nico didn't like the stares coming their way and pulled them aside, looking for a cafe or bookstore to duck into. "I'm sorry about earlier, I didn't think you'd cry."

The master of emotions and tact.

She finally looked him in the face again (let it not be said that this girl was a beautiful crier, because that would be an outright lie.) it was with a glare. Her eyes looked sunburned-a nasty irritated red that was raw and painful-and snot was running from her nose to her mouth with tears and gunk from her eyes mingling on her face.

"And I didn't want some thoughtless apology from a rude little boy." She shot back, leaning against the brick wall, failing to act nonchalant.

The tear-stained face kind of ruined that.

"Look, I just wanted to apologize. The name's Nico di Angelo."

He wasn't really sure why he was doing this. Maybe it was curiosity? He'd certainly already satisfied his conscious.

She stared at him for a long time, particularly his face and hair. Nico just barely resisted the urge to squirm (ADHD says hello) and met the challenge head on. After an indeterminate amount of time, something within her seemed to just give out and he could've sworn she mouthed something similar to "gem" which didn't really make sense at all, but maybe he was just missing to context.

"Apology accepted," She said stiffly, "but I don't ever forget. I'm Sophie Lovelace."

"Care for a cup of coffee?"

Sophie looked perplexed, and it was a nice change from the abject misery. "Is this some strange American trick?" Right. Coffee was what had _started_ this whole mess in the first place, wasn't it? It would look strange from any perspective.

Nico shoved his hands into his pockets. "No. But neither want of us got our coffee right? And it's the gentlemen's duty." He wrinkled his nose. "Or something like that. I wouldn't know. I'm Italian, not British."

"I was a maid in London and I've never heard such a load of crock in my life," She said, perfectly solemn. But when Nico glanced at her, he thought he might've spotted a spark in otherwise dull eyes and a twitch of the lips suggesting a sense of humor was merely hidden not gone.

* * *

><p>Nico didn't pry, and Sophie didn't open up. Not about the reason for her sudden sob fest at any rate.<p>

However, he found another coffee shop (honestly, there was one or two lining each street at minimum) and he paid for two hot chocolates.

"Thought you said you were treating me to coffee."

"Tell that to my wallet."

With that short exchange done, he slid into the booth, where Sophie sat gazing out the window. From this angle, her scar was hidden and the sunlight coming in from the window obscured her features. The Londoner had been transformed into a daytime silhouette. Nico wasn't one for poetry, but he thought it was a clever line, not that the public would ever know about it.

The duo fell into a silence that might have been awkward, save for the drinks. The blowing and sipping and enjoying kept their mouths occupied and made small talk unnecessary. Nico couldn't stay still for long-one of the marks of a demigod, though he wasn't nearly as bad as Percy had been. Death was chaotic and peaceful all at once, and final. But it wasn't in constant unrestrained motion like the sea.

The Italian still found himself tapping his foot and bouncing his leg anyway. He had enough control to keep his eyes from darting around the shop and didn't bang his knee against the underside of the table, though he came close once or twice. Nico tried to block out the sounds of his surroundings (that small toddler babbling in the far corner, the baby and its shrill teeth-clenching screech, the apologizing waiter to his immediate left) and focus on his pseudo-date.

But he wasn't _staring_. Not creepily. Wasn't it weirder to _avoid_ eye contact? All those mystery books the dead librarian had read to him said so, and that was good enough for him.

"Thank you," Sophie finally said, talking to her reflection in the window.

"You're welcome," Nico replied, watching as her attention slid her hot chocolate, "But my face is up here."

He tried to stretch his face into a smile, but gave up, settling for a crooked grin.

Her eyebrow rose, "You know I saw that on a t-shirt once. However I recall that a _girl_ was wearing it."

"The line still works," he argued. "And anyway, shouldn't I be the one avoiding faces?"

Nico might have crossed a line, because her face closed off.

Why was it that he was always saying offensive things to this girl? He'd never be in her good books at this rate.

Lady luck must have been smiling down on him (read: dowsing him with her bathwater) because after a stiff silence, punctuated by the jingle of the bell as customers left and arrived, her face softened marginally. "You just can't help but say whatever comes to your mind," she murmured, and there might've been an inkling of respect hidden in her exasperation, but Nico didn't want to push it.

"I can't help it if I wasn't born with a filter."

It elicited a snort from her.

Not a giggle.

But it was nice; he thought giggling was rather annoying anyway and a cheap replacement for a laugh.

* * *

><p>Nico thought he hated waiting. He thought he hated a lot of things in life-research papers, Annabeth forcing him to attend school, monsters, evil overlords...the list was endless. But he wouldn't write it out. That would be ten minutes of his life he'd never get back and a heachache to go along with it.<p>

After meeting Sophie, something else shimmied up to the top of his Hate List and that became _mysteries._

Like what was up with her staring at him like he was a ghost (horrible, horrible pun that made him cringe afterwards) and breaking out into hysterics afterwards? He got the staring and hostility-Nico _had _plowed into her and made her a mop. And that comment (whatever it was-he couldn't remember all the intimate details of their first meeting but had a hunch it had something to do with her scar) had been horribly insensitive.

But over their little coffee-turned-hot-chocolate date, Nico had discovered that Sophie gave as good as she got and wasn't some unstable wallflower.

He was determined to unravel the mystery that was Sophie Lovelace-from her scar to her grief to her reason for moving to the good ol' US of A.

But back to monsters (and how much they suck).

For once, Nico could be found in a public place (stores and shops didn't count in his mind), in broad daylight and was relaxing. No monsters had attacked him this week, and that should've been his first sign that something was about to go terribly wrong. You just didn't tempt fate like that, especially if you were a demigod.

Of course, that would make it just a run-of-the-mill "jump the half-blood" ambush, and nothing worth putting down on paper. It was the face that he was alerted to the dracaena's presence by a shrill scream that was just a little _too_ familiar that made it stand out. Plus the, attacking a civilian and not him thing, was enough to make it distinctive in its own right.

Well, that was a little unfair.

As Nico would later find out, the snake-woman wouldn't have given her target a second glance, if Sophie hadn't had a major freak out. Apparently, the Mist meant nothing to her.

His inborn hero-complex kicked in and he found himself tearing through Central Park, vaulting over benches, avoiding roots and getting slapped in the face by oblivious tree branches. When the protests grew weaker and turned into whimpers and muffled cries of pain, he kicked it into high gear and whipped out his sword, angry thoughts swirling through his mind like a hive of bees.

Dracaena, meet Nico.

Nico, meet Sophie.

Sophie, meet tree.

The son of Hades didn't give his opponent a chance to react (this wasn't a movie, even if Sophie was doing her best to be a damsel in distress) and hacked off the scaled-lady's arm with what might've been excessive force. He wanted to kick her face until everything caved in, but the Stygian iron did its job too well, turning her to dust instantly.

So instead, he caught Sophie before she collapsed and found himself sitting cross-legged with her head in his lap. Arguably a cute or even romantic position under different circumstances, but the blood leaking from her temple kind of ruined the mood.

Wishing Sophie weren't a clear-sighted mortal and instead a demigod, he frantically tried to recall what he should be doing. Gods, he was Hade's son! Not a damn Apollo-child who could whip up a magical cure on the spot! What if she died because he was too stupid to keep her alive?

"Nnnniii?"

That got his attention fairly quickly. "Sophie?" He quickly worked his way out of his jacked and tore off his shirt, while trying not to jostle her prone form. Her weak gurgle had flipped some kind of inner switch. It was far from a forced calm-he was still panicking in some part of his mind-but it gave him _focus_. He could work around any resulting emotions later.

Fuck.

It wasn't standard for a demigod to carry cell phones as it put out an invisible signal to monsters that just screamed "Idiot Here For the Killing!" but now he was wishing he'd been a little more rebellious. What was it they did in movies? In action novels? Come on, Nico, think!

Talk.

That's what it was-they talked and kept them awake.

"Hey, Sophie, pay attention. You can't go to sleep right now, that'd be bad...very bad, so stay awake for me, ok? You owe me some answers. Like why you were really crying in the coffee shop. And how a clear-sighted London girl ended up in the Big Apple. And tell me the bastard that scarred your face so I can take care of them for you."

He continued to babble, more to reassure himself that things would be okay. Every time she nodded off or her eyes droop, or grew glassy and unfocused sent a spike of fear through him and his words grew louder and made less sense. Nico patted her on the cheek, since slapping was out of the question, but his one-sided conversation was no longer keeping her attention.

"Hey, can you answer a few questions for me?" He continued to chatter nervously, wondering if he should try to move her to a better location. Like say, a hospital. "I'm a little slow you know, so it would really help me out. Can you tell me what year it is?" Or the month. Or the day. Or her name! He forced himself to shut up and give her a chance to  
>answer.<p>

Her eyebrows inched closer together, like she was trying to solve a ridiculously hard math problem. "S...'arts wit'..a twooo, does' it?" She mumbled.

That was good, right? Nico looked down at his shirt in concern, hoping to have staunched the bleeding completely. All he'd done was slow it down. But he couldn't leave. By the time he got a hold of someone she could bleed out, or be attacked by a wild dog, or kidnapped or something. Like, a lot of bad, horrible things lurked around the corner.

"Yeah, that's right. Can you tell me the whole year?"

"Noooooo," she slurred, face pale from blood loss, "th...tha dat no fun." On an impulse, Nico took her hand and squeezed. Gods, she was nearly as cold as he was. At least she was talking-but it was growing more incoherent as more time slipped out from under him.

"Squeeze my hand," he ordered.

He received a small flutter of fingers in response.

Nico frowned. "Listen Sophie, this is very important. I'm going to try something kind of dumb. But it's for a good reason-" Justifying his reasoning to someone else was never a good sign-"So you're going to have to trust me. Even though you don't know anything about me and I don't know anything about you."

Carefully he shifted until his body was no longer pinned under Sophie, keeping one hand against his blood-drenched shirt at all times. Nico tried to be gentle as he dragged her body across the grass-he was afraid to lift her-until they were encased in the shadow of a tree.

One.

Two.

Three.

And then there were no more bleeding girls with scars and no more boys with broken hearts.

* * *

><p>In hindsight, perhaps shadow travelling to an emergency room would've been better.<p>

Nico had avoided that as he didn't want to end up accidentally dropping them in an operating room or on top of an already-occupied gurney. Because that would be awkward and not very conductive to getting Sophie medical treatment. That was one of the downfalls of this method of travel (besides the massive energy drain)-if he didn't know _exactly_ where he wanted to go, he could get trapped in a wall or dumped into raging traffic.

Still, the universe could have had better timing.

Think walking in on your parents was bad? Well imagine literally dropping into your cousin's bedroom as he is under the covers with his fiancée.

Annabeth let out a screech and Percy settled for a strangled squawk.

"Oh gods oh gods, I can explain!" Nico shouted, leaning against the wall, holding Sophie in a death grip. Really, how else was he supposed to cope?

"Nico di Angelo!" Annabeth had backed into the headboard and was pulling the up the sheets to cover herself. "What do you think you're doing dropping into our apartment like this?" She glanced at the alarm clock. "At 4 o'clock in the afternoon." The daughter of Athena was flustered and Nico couldn't blame her-it must be mortifying for her younger  
>cousin to interrupt them like this.<p>

"And why did you bring a girl?" Percy asked, totally bewildered.

Annabeth followed his line of sight and raised an eyebrow. She looked like she wanted to say more on the subject, but thought better of it.

"This is Sophie Lovelace," he said helpfully. "A clear-sighted mortal. She was hit on the head by a dracaena."

Immediately any embarrassment was dropped-for now. "Shut your eyes," Percy told him, "Or turn around or something. And then we can check out this mortal you dragged in."

Nico complied, hoping they hadn't scattered their clothes all over the place. Gods, only something this jarring could take his mind off of the body he was treating as a teddy bear.

"Nico?" A gentle voice coaxed him. "You need to let go so we can help her." A voice that sounded like Annabeth, but couldn't be. This was too maternal and kind, not the powerful and authoritative voice he knew. Yet when he opened his eyes it was the golden-curled princess staring down at him. Dumbfounded, he did as she said and slumped against the wall, sliding to the ground.

"So how do you know her?"

Percy's question jerked him from his thoughts.

"What are you talking about?" How could he know the Nico knew this girl? Was he trying to imply something?

His older cousin chucked a towel at him. "Gods Nico, it's written all over your face." Annabeth was already attending to Sophie, while Percy drew him away, clearly intending to distract him. Whatever. He'd go with it. "Speaking of that, go wash up. You looked like an avenging angel."

He scowled, but made his way to the bathroom anyway.

What was with all the stereotypes?

* * *

><p>"So, you're a downworlder?"<p>

Sophie's first words to him upon becoming lucid once more, didn't really make much sense to him. Was the some sort of British slang? It had been seventy years after all, even if he couldn't remember most of his childhood. The memories, at least. He still had an odd knowledge of Italian, but that was neither here nor now.

Percy and Annabeth had decided it was a great idea to leave him alone with "the patient" and gone off to "a friend's house" (presumably to do hormonal things), essentially abandoning him. And leaving him with the duty of explaining. Nico did not want the title "Explainer of all things Greek and Magical and Illogical" thrust upon him and resented the couple for chickening out.

Yellow-bellied cowards!

"Depends," he finally said, "on what a downworlder is. If being the son of a Greek god qualifies, yeah, I am."

Her eyes widened.

Oh great.

"You saw that dracaena." Nico fidgeted. Gods, he sucked at explaining things. Couldn't he just IM Chiron and have a Hermes' kid send over the orientation video? It would make things a _lot_ simpler. "And you saw my sword, right? I'm not lying."

"I knew demons exisisted. I never considered the gods." The girl's hazel eyes were bright and shining. Not reverence. Never that. But they were lit with some inner passion-like a dead hope had been revived-and it made him uneasy. "So who is your father?"

"That's rude you know." He sniped. Although that was also kind of a lie, considering those in-the-know just took a look at him and made their own conclusions. In a way, the fact that she was bothering to ask instead of assume was polite, if a bit forceful and direct. "My father is Hades. And no he doesn't have flaming blue hair."

"I don't usually rely on Disney to form my world views." She said sharply.

Right, she had some bite.

He forgot about that.

But then she deflated. He frowned as he observed her-this wishy washy moodswing thing was getting quite annoying.

"But thanks," she said softly, more to the pillow than him. From where he sat, at the foot of the bed, it was quite endearing-and then he froze all thoughts there. Clearly Aphrodite was messing with him again. He wouldn't drag in a civilian too. "Downworlders are...nonhumans, you could say. Vampires, werewolves, the supernatural."

Well, there went the neighborhood.

"Did they give you that scar?" If she was going to be spilling her guts, this was a prime opportunity, wasn't it? Besides, it was a logical assumption.

"No." Sophie said shortly, and Nico knew he had crossed the invisible line. He hadn't even known his relationship with this girl had a line. "A human did."

"Sometimes monsters masquerade as humans."

Of course, she probably didn't know he was being literal. But it was the sentiment that counted, right?

Her face twisted, and for a moment, it was ugly. The scar was angry, stretching and twisting her features into something unrecognizable.

"The only person I loved in the world died. A demon had already ensured he wouldn't live a long life...but it was a _human_ who killed him in the end." A short bark, barely resembling a laugh was forced from her chest. "But I guess you see death a lot."

That was nice.

Although it made him squirm. Why did she feel the need to dump this on him? Pour out her life in a few harsh sentences? Grief did weird things to people, but underneath the sadness was a cold bitterness that was all too similar to the hot fury that had taken hold of him and nearly killed Percy (and himself).

"I'd offer to let you see him, but I'd be breaking about 50 divine rules. And a few ancient laws."

She stilled.

"But even if you saw him, I don't think it would make it better." He pushed his sister out of his mind. _Why_ did she have to pop up at the most inconvenient times? "I tried that once. It sucked. I thought I'd tell you and save you a lot of trouble."

Sophie didn't slap him. But she did give him the coldest look he'd ever seen. The silent **_"get out"_** burning in her eyes was easily understood.

"Fuck!" she whispered as the door slammed.

"Fuck" indeed.

* * *

><p>Why oh why did he have to get involved with a girl hung up on her dead boyfriend? Shit this sucked so damn bad. It wasn't even that he liked her. (Really!). But this just proved he wasn't fit to be around people. How could he blunder around like that? He knew what it was like to have your whole world ripped out from under you, and how lashing out was the only thing that made it better because if you were enraged you couldn't think (remember).<p>

* * *

><p>Three days later and someone was hammering on his door.<p>

He moaned. What time was it? Heck, it didn't matter, anytime before he left his bed was too early.

Nico opened the door. Slammed it shut. Turned around.

"I'm too young to have a nervous breakdown!" He gripped his hair, like people having nervous breakdowns (in movies) did. "Noooo no. I don't need to end up like any of my half-brothers! I'm too young to be a megalomaniac!"

"Open the door, di Angelo! I came to talk, not get a door slammed in my face!"

War of the exclamation marks already.

Finally, deciding to die with honor was better than passing without his dignity, he pivoted and opened to door in rough, jerky movements.

Sophie, with her half her hair hacked off (at the longest point, her strands tickled her chin) and a bandage covering her forehead. Also, an important detail: she wasn't death-glaring him.

"You aren't here to murder me?"

"I don't think I'd need to with your stupidity."

A miracle: she smiled after making the jab.

"Are you trying to flirt with me?" He slapped his hand over his mouth and moaned. A "did I just say that out loud" moment indeed.

"We're barely friends, Nico. Don't flatter yourself." She tilted her head. "I hope you don't just want to get your hands down my skirt."

"You're in jeans." He deadpanned. And Sophie _was_ in jeans and in a green sweater, standing in his doorway for less-than-sound reasons.

Yes, she was, and what a kind observation, Sophie was quick to share, but would he let her in instead of having this awkward conversation in the doorway?

Nico let her into his apartment that he lived alone (illegally) in. He directed her to the couch, and got her a glass of water. Nothing edible was in his apartment. Most things considered polite to give guests was also absent. His apartment was just that offensive when it came to courtesy, like the rest of him. Or so he'd like to think.

"I came to the states to run away." She started, seeing no need for preamble or small talk. This was just business. Or an explanation. Either one, really. "I had nothing tying me down. My...guardians, were in no state to care for me. They were grieving just as hard. If not more. And I was just there. The extra. Loved, of course," she had no delusions that she was ignored (mostly) or hated. "But out of place. I'm just normal and mortal after all."

"And right now you're the best distraction I have. It seems as angry as you make me with your offensive comments, it gets me out of my funk."

Lamest confession of love of all time.

Not, that it was. Nor, did he want it to be, Nico thought with a blush. But he couldn't deny she was attractive. Why did he have to get a hard on for weirdos? (So similar to himself, like looking in a distorted mirror). And not literally. Come on, it's a figure of speech. Most of the time.

"Did you just admit to using me?"

To his surprise, Sophie flushed, and this time it wasn't a precursor to unexpected sobbing. "No. I mean. I'm just explaining myself. I _would_ like to be friends with you."

"Want to play cards?" he offered.

* * *

><p>Nine months of friendship later, and something had been born, while Percy and Annabeth were on their honeymoon.<p>

"Do you still miss him?"

Sophie was startled, and nearly ran into a lamp post.

The duo was exploring, walking the streets of New York with no specific destination in mind; in such a bustling place, there were always new things to see.

"What kind of question is that?" She demanded, though it lacked any real bite. "Of course I do. Don't you think of your sister?"

He didn't answer that. Nico didn't _want_ to think about that actually. Four years of avoiding the issue had worked so far-though he'd forgiven her for stupidity born of youth, he  
>didn't forget how she'd abandoned him so easily. He turned away, fingering a bit of loose fuzz on his jeans.<p>

"Why d'you want to know?"

That was the basis of their strong friendship-brutal honesty-throwing things like tact and privacy out the window. If one of them clammed up, that was a hint not to pry. But that didn't mean they weren't allowed to ask questions. Quite the opposite.

Well, he had to say it now. Man up, and all that.

"I..." Oh.

Oh.

This was a lot harder than he thought.

He blushed, glancing at her before turning away. "Nothing!"

"Let's get icecream!" Sophie grabbed his hand, and he almost jerked away in reflex, he was so startled. She dragged him along, miraculously finding a small icecream shop, in the mess of stores in the plaza.

"W-what? O-okay," he muttered.

Gods, he felt like he was _twelve_. Again.

"One chocolate for me. And another for my boyfriend."

Nico nodded, chocolate was alwa-

What?

What.

_What_.

"Earth to Nico! Did you suddenly become allergic to chocolate?" Sophie said, in what might've been irritation. But who knew? The world didn't turn on its axis anymore! The entire _universe_ had been turned inside out, and she expected him to act like everything was normal?

Numbly, he took the cone from her.

"That was me saying yes by the way."

He stared at her incredulously. "But I didn't even ask the question!"

She shrugged. "Well, you couldn't spit it out and I was getting impatient. I had to take matters into my own hands."

* * *

><p>As you can imagine, Aphrodite had a field day after that. They were the <em>new <em>Percy and Annabeth.

* * *

><p><strong>So to the five people that'll read this: how did I do? What was a weak point? A strong point? Did you have a favorite line, section, or scene? Like I squeezed my muse dry. There is no more to give. It's making me anticipate NaNoWriMo even more. Yes, I'm weird like that.<strong>

**6/18/11**


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